Anniversary
by AlNiFei
Summary: On the two-month anniversary of the day his brother was ripped to shreds by the dreaded hellhounds, Sam finally gains the strength to visit Dean's grave. One-shot. Takes place between seasons 3 and 4. Angst/desperate/vengeful!Sam.


Prompt: Sam visits Dean's grave while Dean is in Hell.

Warnings: Lots of angst from Sam, along with splash of classic vengeance.

Takes place between seasons 3 and 4.

I don't own Supernatural.

Enjoy~

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Dark storm clouds float above the silent countryside, the only sound being the light downpour of rain, with the occasional gust of wind as the only thing to accompany the otherwise lonely water in its melancholic dance. The living seemed to be taking shelter; waiting in their warm homes for the water to halt its washing over the land. In the middle of the forest, tall, bare trees loom over a small, inconspicious wooden cross, reminding the few who see it of the loneliness they are lucky enough to avoid. However, at the moment, in the downpour of the rain, the tree wasn't alone; a solitary figure stood, opposing the rain's warning and allowing himself to be drenched in the water as punishment.

The figure stood there, staring at the pathetic grave marker directly in front of him. He thought about replacing the makeshift cross for a more grand one; one that deserved to rest at the presence of his brother's body. However, that would require admitting that he couldn't raise him from the grips of Hell, and Sam just couldn't do such a thing.

So, he simply stood in place, becoming a part of the environment around him, and wishing it could be that simple; to become only a statue in this cruel world that seemed to have it out for the Winchesters. Unmoving, it seemed as if the tree, storm, man, and cross were in a universe in which time fails to reach.

The man released a small, tormented sigh as he looked from the grave marker for what seemed like the first time after an eternity, his eyes burning and head pounding from the previous night's consumption of alcohol.

He had hoped that his brother would be alive by now, that he could make a deal and even replace him. Hell, he had even worked, tried his hardest, to free him from his deal. But alas, not a single demon was open for trade to a Winchester (the only remaining one, as Sam regretfully noted), and he had failed his brother when he tried to free him from his contract.

Sam let the rain fall onto his features, trying to clear his bloodshot eyes of the infuriating burning feeling that had been pressing on the corners since he woke up that morning.

'This weather is so nostalgic… It's almost sickening.'

The youngest (and only) Winchester's thoughts were then brought back to that fateful night in Cold Oak, when he was killed by Jake and his brother made that damned deal that revived Sam, but seemingly just as soon tore Dean from his brother's grip.

"I'm sorry, Dean..." Sam thought, throwing out the "no chick-flick" rule.

After all, Dean wasn't there.

"I should have killed Jake the first time, I shouldn't have been stupid enough to let him kill me, and I should have rescued you from your deal." But no, he couldn't even do that. His big brother had sacrificed everything for Sam, over and over again, and in return the youngest couldn't save him even once.

He would have done anything at that bloody moment in which his brother was ripped to shreds by that invisible force. _Anything_. He would have sold his soul in a heartbeat, tore those hellhounds apart with his bare hands, Hell, he would have gone directly against Dean's wishes and used his demon powers if he knew that's what it took.

But instead he was forced to watch, helpless, as he witnessed the very man who had raised him while he was but a child himself, the man that would -and did- sacrifice everything for him, slowly have his chest ripped apart. His agonized screams and moans haunted Sam's memory, the images not once scattering from the back of his eyelids.

Sam laughed. It was a cold, dead laugh, filled with contempt and void of any humor.

What kind of a God was cruel enough to continue this torture? Did He _enjoy_ watching the Winchesters suffer? Or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he couldn't be burdened with the suffering of the many he created. No, because he was above them. They were measly ants, and he needn't concern himself with their torment.

"Damn Him..." Sam cursed, smirking at how he used to pray to such a sadistic force, "if he cared, you'd be out of there, and I'd be in."

But nothing was coming to the rescue. No demons would strike a deal with the likes of Sam Winchester, and there surely weren't any angels running around, saving the righteous from the inferno of Hell.

Sam's knees suddenly seemed to crumble, off-balance from the amount of drinking he had done the previous night and even that morning, and from the amount of strain he had put on them since Dean's passing.

He had gotten little sleep, the only bits that he captured being drunken slumbers. In his waking hours he would search for crossroads, and at night he would appear before a demon, drunk out of his mind, and attempt to make a deal.

Sam started trembling, the chilling rain soaking his clothes and seeping down to his bones, freezing each of them one by one.

However, it was mostly the frustration he had toward himself that brought about the tremors.

For a while the broken man just remained in that position, thinking nothing as the rain refused to sympathize with him and continued to pelt the Winchester with the frequent drops.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sam stood from his position on the ground, wiping his eyes of invisible tears as he reached into his pocket to pull something from his jacket.

"However, Dean... I swear, I _will_ take down Lilith. I'll make her bring you back from Hell, and I'll exorcise her myself if that's what it takes."

Because Sam wouldn't sit back and let his brother rot in Hell. No, he was going to do whatever it takes. Even if that required teaming up with one of the very monsters they had set out to destroy.

Ruby could do it. She could train Sam and make him strong enough; Then he wouldn't be helpless any more. He could torture Lilith to his heart's content and _make_ her feel the pain his brother was experiencing in Hell. She could bring Dean back (whether Sam would still have to sell his soul to do so mattered not), and then he could choke the revolting black cloud from whichever poor little girl she was possessing, only to crush it in his hands and erase it from existence.

Sam then set the object from his pocket onto the ground, in front of the wooden cross that marked his brother's grave.

He then turned, walking away from his brother's grave for the second time since he buried him two months ago. But this time, he had a plan. No longer would he wander the crossroads, drunk and desperate to make a deal. No, he would stay sober for Dean, and focus on taking down Lilith. That bitch deserved to _pay_, and he was going to make sure it would be in the most painful, torturous method he could utilize.

The forest of leafless trees were once again alone, as was the small marker of a righteous man. However, the grey sight that the rain, trees, and grave had created seemed a little less lonely, even if it would only be temporary. Because, resting before the wooden cross, a single, blood-red flower splashed color across the cold, hard ground. It lay there as a symbol for hope. The hope that the two brothers, who had only worked their entire lives to save whomever they could get their hands on, would be reunited once again. That Dean Winchester, the righteous man that he was, could be freed from the grips of Hell and go where he belongs: Right by his little brother's side.

Because there wasn't a Sam without a Dean. While some people may think that it was some sort of sick and dysfunctional co-dependence, it was actually much simpler than that. They grew up together, raised each other, and as far as they were concerned, would die together. Dean wasn't gone. No, not yet. Because Sam hadn't given up hope. And he wouldn't as long as Lilith was still out there.

The visitor to the small, sad grave continued to walk away, never glancing over his shoulder to look back at the site of which he buried his beloved brother. He knew that he most likely would never have a chance to return to the grave again; he knew that this could be the last time he would see his brother's grave. For Dean wouldn't be there for very much longer. Whether Sam would be there to meet his brother when he woke up he didn't know, but it wasn't of much concern to him. All he cared about was avenging Dean, and saving him from the torture he was forced to endure because of him.

Yes, that's right. He would save his brother, no matter the cost. No matter if he had to work with a demon or use the very powers Dean tried so hard to keep him from.

After all, it was simply a means to an end.

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There you go~

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